


Free Will Tattoo

by Kamh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, California, Fluff and Humor, Las Vegas, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Sexual Content, Stillbirth, Tattoo Artist Dean, Tattooed Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:26:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamh/pseuds/Kamh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Free Will Tattoo opened in Las Vegas, Nevada, in October of 1995, by a gruff but lovable ex-marine Bobby Singer who put his heart and soul into the place. But today, is its last day. After today, this place Dean Winchester called home, that gave him a chance and a life, will close. Today is his last day as an artist in his favorite place in the world, and he doesn't know where he’s going from here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Free Will

“Dean! Look who finally showed up for his last day of work," Jo chastised him as he entered. Jo is the stepdaughter of the owner, and took appointments at the front desk. She was a wonderful sassy young blonde who was always looking to bust some chops. 

“Well I was gonna let you do the tattooing today Jo, but I figured we wouldn’t wanna get sued on our last day,” Dean threw back teasingly. 

“Alright, alright enough,” Bobby spoke up. “Remember, we have our last few clients and then we gotta clean everything out. Make me proud today,” looking directly at Dean with a stern fatherly gaze, and he nodded back. 

As Dean went back to look at the schedule, Samandriel stopped him.

"Dean, can I get an opinion on this design I did here?” Samandriel was an apprentice, he wasn't exactly allowed to practice on anybody, but he was allowed to design and observe. Dean liked him a lot, he was a nice kid who was eager to learn, and he reminded Dean of himself when Bobby finally upgraded him from desk boy to apprentice, or an over-excited puppy version of himself. So Dean had taken it upon himself the past few months to look out for Samandriel and teach him what he knew. 

"How's this rose looking?" Samandriel asked seriously, sliding the paper over the counter. 

"Dude you've drawn enough roses to fill a florist, you've perfected it man," Dean smiled, trying to put him at ease. 

Bobby wandered over to them with a smile teasing on his lips and he reached up to mess up Dean’s short dirty-blonde hair, “Don’t cha just love it when the student becomes the teacher?” Bobby and Samandriel laughed as Dean attempted to fix his hair.

“Well, somebody has to be able to look at the sketches without having to find their reading glasses!” Dean teased back.

“Hey, watch it kid! You know I did half the tattoos on your body,” Bobby warned.

“That’s true, you can’t beat the master,” Samandriel smiled. “I’d say the sensei’s pretty good though, Dean’s been a great mentor.”

“Not really,” Dean blushed slightly, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, “you weren’t exactly hard to teach. Besides, that place on the strip already agreed to hire you, right?" 

"Yeah, I just wanna make sure I'm ready before I step into their showy commercial shop," he rolled his eyes.

 

Free Will wasn't on the main strip in Vegas where all the hotels and famous nightclubs and bars were. They were further out so they catered mostly to locals. They didn't get the business that the strip did, where all the shops were owned by artists with TV shows or that had competed on Ink Master or any of that shit. None of them really went for that commercial flair.

They were mostly just a bunch of misfit, lost kids who found themselves in art, and wanted to give it to other people.

 

"Dean, first client's here!" Jo shouted back from the front desk. 

“Go get em’ teach!” Samandriel laughed.

As Dean walked to the front, it reminded him of when he walked in there for the first time.

* * * * * *

Dean was sixteen and ran away to Vegas for the weekend. He grew up about thirty minutes away in a small run-down house, in a sketchy Nevada neighborhood. He just needed something different, a stark contrast from the fear and anger of his dark, endless life. Dean wanted a tattoo, that much he knew. But being a minor, every place he went he got turned away with his poor excuse for a fake ID. Until eventually, after his third attempt, he tried one last place out of pure desperation. 

Dean immediately felt right at home in the small shop. It wasn’t overwhelming like the other ones he had visited that day. The music in the background was soft not blaring, and there was some framed art up on the walls, but there weren’t any cliché stencils of cartoon hearts with arrows or girls in bikinis covering every inch of them. The whole place was decorated in calming blacks and grays, barstools surrounded the counter by the work stations and the black leather couch in the waiting room looked so inviting he could’ve curled right up on it and fallen asleep. But he was on a mission. 

Dean waltzed in with his fake ID and even faker bravado, and walked right up to Bobby, who sat at the front desk. Dean gave Bobby an award-winning smile, handed him a sketch and told him that he wanted to get it on his shoulder blade. It took everything in Bobby not to laugh in his face. 

“Sorry kid, I don’t ink up minors,” he brushed off as he slid the sketch back to him. 

“Please, this is my fourth stop, I’m not gonna report you or anything,” Dean practically pleaded. Bobby looked at him for a long minute, then to the fading bruises on his cheekbone. 

“What’s with the shiner?” he asked. 

“Fell down the stairs,” Dean answered without skipping a beat. 

Bobby sighed and gave a knowing nod, “I’ve fallen down a flight or two in my life also. Where you from, son?”

“Henderson, ‘bout thirty minutes out,” Dean answered. 

“And why’s a kid from Henderson with a problem with stairs so desperate to get a tattoo? Why not wait a few more years?” he asked, genuinely interested. 

“Today is the ten year anniversary. It has to be today,” Dean replied, intentionally looking anywhere but Bobby’s eyes. 

“Anniversary of what?” he spoke quietly.

“My mother’s death.” 

Bobby nodded slowly and picked up the sketch, a faded and cracked scroll with the ‘Hey Jude’ lyrics _‘Anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain, Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders’ _written in a thin black script with a rose, and underneath, Mary 1962-1997.__

“You draw this?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled back.

“This ain’t half-bad, kid,” he paused, considering. “Maybe I believe your ID, looks pretty legit in this lighting... if I close one eye,” he chuckled. “Come on back.”

While Bobby worked on him, Dean told him everything. How his mother had died during childbirth, and his little-brother-to-be Sammy was stillborn, and that he wished every day that they were with him. Especially the days his father John drank away, endlessly blaming the universe for taking them, and the days he took his grief out on Dean. How you could tell by John’s footsteps, the kind of night it was going to be. If they were heavy and loud, deliberate. His every move was full of rage and would echo through the house. Dean would tense and freeze at the stomps, as if John’s anger could radiate off the sound and hurt him itself. Bobby listened, sympathizing and asking questions now and again.

Bobby gave him a job after that; taking appointments, cleaning up stations for him and the other artists. Dean saved up enough money to get a ratty little apartment closer to the strip when he turned 18. Then Bobby trained him as an artist. Bobby’s been more of a father to him than anyone else.


	2. Masterpieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter digs a little more into Dean's past with his father and his passion for tattooing! 
> 
> **Warnings for physical abuse!**

Dean’s first client of the last day was Benny, a bouncer at one of the clubs on the strip and a regular, he was a soft-spoken southerner, who was extremely sweet, but could knock you out for even glancing at him the wrong way.

“Dean! My favorite artist!” he drawled with a smile and a pat on the back. “You didn’t think you could close this place down without giving me one more of your beautiful pieces, did you?”

Dean laughed happily, “I wouldn’t dream of it, man.”

“Speaking of, where’re you headed after this? I’d love to keep coming back to you.” 

“Not sure yet, actually. Probably just going to take some time off,” Dean dodged the question, guiding Benny toward the back to work on him. 

Truth is Dean didn’t know what to do. Bobby was retiring, Samandriel was going to another shop, and Jo got another secretary gig somewhere else. Even if Dean wanted anything to do with his Dad, he was in jail. Free Will has been his identity since he left home. 

* * * * * *

When Dean told John he was moving out, his dark brown eyes shot daggers at him. “Oh yeah, with what money, Donald Trump?” he spat.

“I’ve been saving up,” Dean threw a duffle bag over his shoulder. All of his possessions, boiled down to one duffle bag. 

“What makes you think I’m gonna let you leave?” he rose unsteadily to his feet from the kitchen chair, face growing redder by the minute. 

“I’m 18, you can’t stop me,” Dean answered curtly, daring a look into his eyes. 

“Is that so, you ungrateful little bastard?” he yelled, “I’ve spent all these years taking care of you and putting a roof over your head and this is what I get?” he ran a hand through his unwashed, tousled gray hair. “You really think you’re gonna make a living out there as an ‘artist’?” he gestured with air quotes, letting out a bitter laugh. “Whose gonna look after you?”

“I am,” Dean answered, clenching his jaw and trying to keep his voice steady. “I haven’t needed you in years Dad; I’ve had to watch out for myself while you drank yourself to death.” 

The earsplitting sound of John’s Jack Daniels bottle breaking over the counter echoed in the small room.

“You know what? I’m glad you’re leaving, I’ve always hated having to look into those green eyes of yours and be reminded of her,” he shook his head, as if he was trying to shake off the memory of Mary. “Get out then, leave!” he shoved Dean towards the door. “Your mother wouldn’t have wanted to see you to grow up to be so _selfish _and _screwed up _anyway.”____

“She would’ve treated me a hell of a lot better than you,” Dean’s voice cracked, and he shoved John back for the first time in his life, years of anger overtaking him. 

The next thing Dean knew John was swinging at him with the jagged glass.

Dean fought him off as best he could, throwing a couple punches in defense, but he didn’t get out looking so hot. 

Dean stumbled through the doors of the shop just as Bobby was closing up for the day, holding a blood-soaked towel to his shoulder where John had cut him with the bottle, and sporting a black eye to match his split lip. Bobby’s startled expression said it all, and without a word he steered him to his car and set off for the emergency room.

“I don’t need to go to a hospital, I just wanted to borrow some Band-Aids,” Dean protested.

“If you think a Band-Aid is enough to fix up that shoulder, then I’m gonna tell em’ you need a head scan too,” Bobby chided.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Dean answered, lifting up the towel to inspect his father’s handiwork, grateful Bobby was driving so Dean wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “Besides, what am I supposed to tell them if they asked what happened?”

“You tell them the truth,” Bobby advised, “and hopefully they lock up your old man for assault before I get my hands on him,” his voice deepened to a low growl.

Twenty stitches later, and one filed police report, that had been the last time Dean had ever seen his father.

* * * * * *

For Dean, tattooing is a passion that can’t be explained, like getting lost in art is the only thing that keeps him sane. Dean loved the familiarity of the job, the calming hum of the machine, as the needle moves up and down, as he etches the ink in, and paints his canvas. The cold mist and rough pat of the sterilizer as he finishes it off, and tells the client to take a look. But his all-time favorite part is the look on their face when they see it for the first time. Anticipation fills their eyes as they walk up to the mirror and twist to see it, the new addition to their skin. Their eyes light up and it’s like they can’t stare at it long enough. Sometimes it’s emotional, joyful or tearful, but it’s the best reaction you could ever get to something you’ve created with your own hands. His art may not hang on the walls of museums, or litter the pages of history textbooks, but his art is eternal on the skin of those who wear it. Paintings and statues last centuries, but you can’t bring them with you wherever you go. They can inspire you, but only while you stand before them. His art wasn’t made to be gawked at behind a velvet rope, it was made to be traced by lover’s hands. 

That’s part of the reason Dean loved teaching Samandriel so much; art is so important to him, that helping Samandriel find that within himself was incredibly rewarding. Dean wasn’t just proud of his own accomplishments, he was proud of Samandriel’s. Dean got to be like Bobby, and help someone else realize their potential and the positive impact that their art could have on others. Dean was leaving his mark on people, like his Dad, but Dean wasn’t leaving scars, he was leaving masterpieces.

Tattoos hurt, but not the way you think they would; they burn like a cat scratching a sunburn, or whisky down your throat. Personally, like an alcoholic desperate for the sting, Dean welcomed the burn of a tattoo. Waking him up, relaxing him, reminding him he is alive. The permanency of it, the fact that you could make that decision at any moment, and get something on your body forever, it’s intoxicating. Like what little sense of control you can hold onto in the world. 

Slowly but surely Dean has added more and more art to his body. Piece by piece, lyric by lyric, symbol by symbol. Until all the scars were covered, until his body didn’t show his painful past, but the art and the stories of his life. Until Dean became art, not the battered son that the neighbors pitied. The art on his skin makes him like the parts of himself he hates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel shows up in the next chapter and things get a lot more interesting! Hope you liked this one! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	3. On Occasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean reflects on meeting Castiel for the first time!

Aside from family, friends and a livelihood, the best thing that happened to Dean while working at Free Will was meeting Castiel. Castiel was a student at the local University of Nevada Las Vegas, and he was the most beautiful human being Dean had ever seen. Dean had known for a few years that he was attracted to both men and women. He struggled with it at first, his father’s words about him being ‘screwed up’ echoed in his head whenever he even considered being with another man. But the more he learned about different sexualities, the more he was able to accept who he was, along with the support of Bobby and his friends. 

Castiel had come into Free Will to get his first tattoo, lyrics from his favorite band Mumford & Sons on his ribs, reading ‘I know my call, despite my faults and despite my growing fears’. And Dean was the one that got to give it to him. 

Shaved, stenciled and sprayed, Dean adjusted his gloves and picked up his needle, careful to remain professional despite the gorgeous half naked man lying in front of him. 

“Ready?” Dean asked him, with a hint of amusement at Cas’ anxious expression.

“Yeah,” he smiled, nervously running a hand through his messy his dark hair. 

“So, what’s your call?” Dean asked curiously, noticing how Cas hadn’t flinched when Dean first pressed the needle into his skin. 

“I want to teach English.” He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly when Dean began to fill in the lettering on the sensitive skin over his ribs. “Hopefully in other countries, to kids who aren’t typically able to get an education.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Dean nodded, being as gentle as he could so he wouldn’t make him bleed. “What would your growing fears be?”

“Are you this interested in all your clients?” Cas asked with a smile.

Dean stopped to add more ink to the needle, giving Cas a chance to breathe. Meeting his magnetic blue eyes, Dean answered with a small smirk, “On occasion.” 

“Well, I know that’s what I want to do, but who knows if I’ll be any good at it,” Cas confessed with a small smile. 

“I don’t know, you seem like a pretty strong person, considering you haven’t flinched yet,” Dean joked.

They talked so easily, and Dean got lost in Cas’ deep soothing voice the same way he got lost in art. Dean loved him so much it scared him. For months they hardly left each other’s side. Dean would work and Cas would go to school, then they would do anything and everything together, adventuring around sin city, making memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was so short! I just needed to introduce Cas but the end of the original chapter was difficult to write so I decided to split it! Hope you liked!


	4. First Dates

After one of their first dates, they entered Dean’s apartment in almost-tears after dinner at a restaurant on the strip, “Where do you even buy an outfit like that?!” Cas exclaimed through his laughter.

“Who knows how long she even had it, the woman must’ve been in her nineties!” Dean giggled, dropping onto the couch. 

“I just wish I knew who she was waiting for at the bar, in that red leather jump suit and feathery headband.” Cas pondered, dropping down next to Dean on the couch, their legs pressing up against each other.

“I’d like to think she made a deal like fifty years ago to meet up with a man she fell in love with at that bar,” Dean answered thoughtfully.

“Hmm, romantic,” Cas smiled in return. “Maybe they had an affair one crazy weekend in Vegas but they were both married.”

“So they agreed that fifty years later if they were both single, they would meet up after all that time and finally marry each other in honor of their irreparable passion,” Dean teased.

“But he didn’t show up!” Cas declared. “You don’t think he’s dead, do you?

“No, maybe he has a terrible case of Alzheimer’s, or he is too old to fly.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better, Dean.” Cas pouted.

“Well, maybe their affair wasn’t as passionate as they believed it to be at the time,” Dean offered.

“I don’t know of any passion that I’ve had I can even compare to that,” Cas answered quietly.

“Well maybe I can help with that,” Dean smiled seductively as he leaned slowly, placing his hand on Cas’ neck, guiding him to Dean’s lips. The kiss electrified all of Cas’ nerves, the feel of Dean’s lips on his was one of them most maddeningly intoxicating kisses he’s ever had.

“That was a terribly cheesy line, Dean.” He spoke quietly, in an attempt to distract from the intensity of the moment. But it didn’t deter him from leaning back in for another kiss. Getting lost in the sensations, of Dean’s lips and his hands and his scent.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice was deep, filled with yearning after several minutes of passionate kissing. “You wouldn’t want to move this to the bedroom, would you?”

“Took you long enough, Winchester,” Cas smiled as he leaned back in for another lust-filled kiss.


	5. So An Angel Marries a Human?

Dean sat in the break room, half of his last day already gone. His nostalgia had been reaching alarming heights. But in both appreciating his time at the shop, and freaking out about the future. He couldn’t help but revert back to the last time he was really happy.

* * * * * *

Cas’ absolute favorite thing to do after sex was trace Dean’s tattoos. He loved being able to explore Dean’s body so intimately, and feel the smooth skin along Dean’s body under his long fingers. On top of his tattoos being amazingly beautiful pieces of art, they also told Cas so much about him. One by one he would run his fingers along the colors, shades and dark lines of each tattoo and ask Dean what they mean and why he got them. Some of them were very personal, like the one on his right shoulder that covered the scar from his Dad, which is a pastel-colored image of a boxer under a starry sky, framed in the lyrics of a Simon & Garfunkel song done in black script, ‘In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade, and he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down and cut him ‘til he cried out, in his anger and his shame, “I am leaving, I am leaving! But the fighter still remains”’ Or the words ‘I love you’ written on his chest, over his heart in his mother’s handwriting from an old birthday card. Some are just small reminders to himself, like ‘We are not our failures’ written on his forearm right underneath his bicep, to remind him that not everything that has gone wrong in his life was because of him. Others are just expressing Dean’s passions, like the large tattoo needle covering his ribs on his left side, a big colorful piece done by Bobby that took hours and elicited lot of whining from him. Or the four symbols from the Led Zeppelin IV album cover that ran down his spine. Cas didn’t have a favorite, he was enthralled with each and every one of them for different reasons. But coupled with the sweet feeling of afterglow, he couldn’t help but marvel at Dean and how much he felt for him, as he sighed contentedly as Cas kissed and ravished his body art.

* * * * * *

Dean was splayed out on his back in Cas’ bed, watching him with an enamored gaze, as he flipped through travel books. Cas was currently admiring a book about the Louvre museum in France, eyes caressing the century old paintings with quiet awe and a small smile. 

“Dean?” Cas asked quietly, unaware that Dean had been meticulously memorizing his every feature.

“Hmm?” Dean answered, snapping out of his daze.

“Which do you think are better, paintings or sculptures?” 

“I don’t know Cas, I’m more of an anatomical artist,” he teased wiggling his eyebrows. 

Cas huffed out a laugh, “I mean to look at not to make.”

Dean considered this and leaned in close to Cas, brushing their shoulders against each other as he checked out the book. “These are all famously beautiful pieces of art, Cas, all that matters is what you think of them, how they make you feel.”

Cas shuffled the pages to a dog-eared page and presented it to Dean, “This one’s my favorite.” 

Dean’s eyes took in a gracefully stunning sculpture, in white marble. Of an angel with massive graceful wings holding up a woman who had fallen, the statue captured them inches away from kissing one another. “Cas this is gorgeous,” was all Dean could manage to comment.

“I was named after an angel, I told you that right?” Cas smiled.

“Are you suggesting that I am the girl in this scenario?” Dean smiled in disbelief.

“Of course not, Dean. I just love this piece so much, it captures everything; Angelic mythology, healing, trust, star-crossed love, sexual tension.”

“It is surprising how an 18th century sculpture manages to be so sexy,” Dean muses.

“The myth behind it is quite fascinating. It’s about the woman Psyche who fell in love with the angel Cupid, their love was forbidden because he was a heavenly figure and she was a human,” Cas explains.

“Well, what happens?” Dean urges him to continue.

“Eventually love conquers all and Cupid saves Psyche from an eternal sleep and they are allowed to marry forever,” Cas smiles.

“So an angel marries a human, huh?” Dean mulls it over in his head, “Against the initial wishes of the other heavenly figures. Damn no wonder there is so much sexual tension.”

Two week later, Dean came home with a surprise on his left arm, a intricately done tattooed image of Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova, underneath were the Mumford & Sons lyrics ’There’ll come a time you’ll see with no more tears and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears’. Cas would’ve been lying if he said it didn’t make him cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss By Antonio Canova is a real and incredibly beautiful piece of art at the Louvre, and the story behind it is true and I learned about from google!


	6. I Promise to Take You to Our Sculpture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Dean had never loved anyone so passionately before, he had also never been so terrified of the profound feelings he had.

One date in particular, they went to the Paris hotel for dinner and Cas insisted on taking the elevator to the top of the Eiffel tower. When they got to the top and looked out through the caged windows at the bright lights of the flashy hotels, the wind whipped all around them. Castiel was in such awe that he didn’t even notice when Dean draped his jacket over his shoulders.

“Do you see that?” Cas asked, pointing in wonderment at the people below them on the streets. “We’re up so high!” “You know, I heard the real Eiffel tower is like three times higher than this one! That’ll be scary, but awesome. I can’t wait!”

“Did you buy plane tickets I’m not aware of?” Dean teased.

“Well not yet, but eventually,” he shoved Dean’s shoulder playfully. “You’re going to love it, there. I promise to take you to our sculpture.”

Dean gave Cas a small smile, but had trouble ignoring the quiet voice in the back of his head, reminding him of his reality. He couldn’t go, he would never have the money, and he’d never left the west coast let alone the country.

Dean was filled with these fears more and more as he and Cas’ relationship developed. Cas was this amazing, intelligent gorgeous man, who wanted to use his love of languages in order to help other people all around the world. He wanted to experience every part of life that he could, and make enough memories for a thousand lives. Dean admired him to no end, and never wanted to let go of the love and powerful admiration that Cas gave him, but he also was filled with self-doubt. That maybe he was holding Cas back, that he could never possibly have the things that Cas wanted from life. He was just a low-level artist that caught a break when he met Bobby, how could he compare to the magnificence and selflessness that was Cas.

About a year into their relationship, Cas got accepted to a school in California to get his Master’s degree, and he asked Dean to go with him. 

“I looked it up,” Cas told him, taking out all these community college brochures he had highlighted and wrote little notes on. “There are a ton of schools that have art education programs near mine. Dean you’re such an amazing artist and you love teaching and mentoring other artists, you should do this.”

“I-I don’t know, Cas. That’s a big move and I couldn’t just leave Bobby and the shop after everything they’ve done for me.” Dean lamented worriedly.

“Bobby would understand Dean, he wants you to be happy and grow, you could be doing so much more with your life.”

“Am I not doing enough now?” Dean asked defensively. 

“I didn’t mean it like that Dean,” Cas backtracks.

“I know you don’t want to spend the rest of your life with some loser who barely graduated high school, but that doesn’t mean I want to uproot my life and make all these changes,” Dean stood up and began to pace, working himself up with fear and anger.

“You don’t have to go to school,” Cas gathered up the pamphlets idly, his voice growing quieter as Dean’s grew louder. “Dean, you know I don’t care whether or not you have a degree, you can tattoo in California. But I also know that teaching is something you love and you’re great at.”

“Oh yeah? And what if I do go with you? What am I supposed to do when you leave for France or Pakistan or wherever you want to teach? Follow you there too? I’m not going to follow you around for the rest of your life, holding you back!” His voice wavered, and Dean looked away as Cas’ blue eyes filled with tears. 

“Dean, you could never hold me back,” Cas pleaded. “I love you and if you’re not ok with traveling together than we can work it out, we can make compromises. I just love you and want to be with you.” 

“I’m a screwed up artist with no future, Cas.” Dean spoke in a low voice. “I love you, but I’m not going to do that to you.”

“Don’t say that like you’re doing me a favor,” Cas answered, loud now with hurt filling his voice. “You’re just scared that you won’t be able to do it. That going to school will be too hard, and that I’ll leave you. But that’s not going to happen!”

“Sure, you say that now, but what happens when we’re there, and everything is different? I’m not going to do that. We might as well do ourselves a favor and end this now.”

“End it?” Cas spoke softly, voice filled with overwhelming emotion and disbelief. “You want to break up?”

Dean took a deep breath, and met Cas’ eyes for the first time during the entire fight, “Yes.”

The look on his face when Dean told him they were over, combined with the heartache Dean felt about losing Cas, hurt worse than every beating he’d ever received.


	7. What's Next?

After a few more clients, Dean finished the last tattoo he would ever do in the shop. All he could do was think about how much the place had changed his life. All it had done for him, giving him a safe haven during his father’s abuse, giving him an outlet for his art, and introducing him to the most important people in his life. There was nothing more Dean wanted in the world than to stay, but he knew that he had to move on.

As they started cleaning up around the shop, Bobby pulled Dean aside and put a hand on his shoulder. “So this is it, last day,” he smiled sadly.

“Bobby I wanna thank you for-” Dean began, trying to express a fraction of the gratitude he had for Bobby, but he stopped him.

“You’re the son I’ve never had, kid. I love you, don’t forget that.”

At the end of the day, they all sat around in a circle, the equipment packed up and away in boxes, loaded in Bobby’s truck. They just sat around and swapped stories, nostalgia getting the best of them. Laughing about drunks wandering in, demanding their ex’s names tattooed on their foreheads. The ridiculous requests they’d been given, the client absolutely positive that they needed the red ninja turtle tattooed on their lower back because it would ‘give them strength’ and ‘remind them of their childhood’. Complimenting each other on the amazing pieces they’d been able to create for people. 

But quicker than Dean wanted, the night slipped away from them, and soon it was over. 

“So Dean,” Bobby looked at him, eyes a little glazed from the whisky and full of an unabashed pride Dean never believed he deserved. “What’s next?”

* * * * * * 

One week after the shop closed, Dean packed up everything from his apartment into his car, and hit the road. Next to him in the front seat was a folder with directions to his new apartment, the number of an artist who used to work with Bobby who now runs his own shop, registration forms for classes at the California College of the Arts, and an old picture of him and Castiel. Dean was determined, he was ready to move on, and grow. He wanted to teach. He wanted to travel. He wanted Castiel. 

After a few hours of driving Dean finally passed the road sign:

Welcome to California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is the end! I hope you enjoyed! <3

**Author's Note:**

> (I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters!)
> 
> This is my first multi-chapter fic, I love Supernatural and tattooing so I thought I would combine them!
> 
> I have all of the chapters written but I am in the process of editing and am looking for any and all feedback anyone wants to give! 
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading! I hope you enjoy :)


End file.
